


Do Right

by synthgender



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gender-Neutral Courier (Fallout), Other, Trans Writer, but I don't use their name or feminine pronouns so gender neutral for all points and purposes, might be drabble might come back idk idk, nonbinary trans woman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 22:24:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13397517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synthgender/pseuds/synthgender
Summary: After the Battle for Hoover Dam's long gone, the Courier reminisces and a familiar face resurfaces.





	Do Right

In the Mojave desert, stories spread slow, but grow as they do, weaving around themselves like knotted ivy until they’re nearly unrecognizable. Soon, all tales grow tall, especially when they’re grounded in living legend--like a person who rises from the grave and rebuilds a nation from their own ashes.

With that warped fame, Courier Six became a Strip attraction in their own right. Nights like this, when they settled in at the Tops after a long trek through the desert, their stolen gossip with Swank at the front desk garnered a crowd. They drew the awed and skeptical alike, but universally, they drew the curious.

People came and people went about their business as the Courier spun stories. At the end of the counter, a stranger listened to every word shared with his hat pulled low, hunched to avoid the crowd’s notice as they spoke. The Courier’s own tales of going toe-to-toe with the NCR and Legion wound to a close when a guest garbed in clothes too starched to be native to the Strip piped up.

“Well, what about the old head honcho here, that Benny fella Mr. New Vegas talked about. What was he like?”

The Courier took a long drag from the cigarette between their lips and considered the question. It was a story even tourists had likely heard a hundred times over and never heard truth in once. Beside them, Swank scoffed.

“That fink Benny? That skeeze ran and--”

“Swank.”

The Courier had a way of weaving worlds with simple emphasis and conspiring tones. Simply speaking his name, Swank fell silent--albeit reluctantly--and a tense silence settled over the gathering before someone asked again, “So, what’s he like?”

“...Loud.” The Courier’s red lips curled into a smile as they flicked the cigarette’s ash away. “A loud and arrogant fool, really.”

At the other end of the desk, the stranger who’d entered frowned, but kept his peace as they went on. Still, he drew no notice from those gathered.

“That said, I don’t think we’d be talking if he weren’t that kinda fella. See, House said Benny was his--what’s the word--protege. So, he knew what House was planning.” They paused for a slow draw from their whisky, collecting their thoughts. “And he had a plan of his own. There was this chip, see. With it, House could’ve wired up those Securitrons you see out there, this massive army no one knew about yet. You think the purge of the Strip a couple years back was bad...

“And I think Benny saw that buildup, knew what it’d mean for Vegas. Not that he had any love for the man. Hard to love a leader who just takes your caps and throws them at a ghost of what Vegas used to be.”

They took a moment to look around at the gathered group. It was no small thrill to see how the people hung on their words. They lowered their voice, drawing them in further.

“So he did what he could to stop that from happening. He shot the courier carrying that chip, set up a way to take over the Securitrons first. Ring-a-ding. There go House’s robot police, here comes the new king.”

Swank scoffed. “He shot you in the head, baby. And _ran_.”  
  
The Courier shot right back, “He opened the door to a free New Vegas. I don’t take it personally. And at the Fort, when we killed Caesar, we figured, hell, _he_ was the one House would paint a target on. Better lie low, y’know? So Gecko beats feet, the Courier delivers a package, and the rest is...history.”

As the crowd fell to murmured musings, The Courier shared a quiet look with one of their companions. They’d never spoken of Benny with anyone outside the Lucky 38. Gradually, the gathered crowd picked up the conversation and moved on, and they waved dismissively to their friend. “Head on up to Tommy’s, I’ll be up soon. Just bummin’ another smoke first.”

They lit up again as the room emptied, and just as they were about to push off the countertop, the stranger on the other end rose up. They spared him half a glance. “Enjoy the story, Joe?”

The cigarette nearly fell from between their lips from the shock of the voice that answered.

“It was a real thriller, pussycat. Cool as ice. But maybe I missed the part of the fairy story where the big hero swept the Savior of the Mojave off her feet.”

The Courier, usually so verbose, was struck speechless for several seconds before their cool veneer fell back into place. In near mockery of Benny, they spoke, “Your memory’s past its date, handsome. I seem to recall pushin’ that broom with my own two hands. That is, before you vamoosed straight for Caesar, and I had to dig you out.” They tugged the cap concealing his eyes off as he spoke. He was rolling them, because of  _ course _ he was.

“You keep mockin’ me, doll, and I’m--”

But the Courier interrupted him with their lips pressed firm to his. Quiet. Discrete. Hidden behind his hat at that, the kiss wouldn’t draw attention in the lobby. When they pulled apart, they were both winded all the same. There was a kind of familiarity in the way they traced the set of his jaw, a fondness in their eyes they wouldn’t voice just yet.

They hopped off the counter rather suddenly, and when they spoke again, they still matched his high-roller drawl. “What do you say you and me cash out, go somewhere more quiet-like? Thirteenth floor, don’t keep me waiting.”

They strolled on and didn’t bother to check if he’d take the bait of his words echoed back to him. He would. His pride wouldn’t let him do anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> My Courier Laurel's take on Benny and his motivations. Thanks as always to Caitlin at brood-mother.tumblr.com for beta-ing my nonsense ramblings into something readable. Please check out their ao3 work at sawbones. (Ya boy doesn't know how to put links in notes!)


End file.
